


The Breaking Point

by snurgle



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, BDSM, Catharsis, Codependency, Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Friends With Benefits, Grief/Mourning, Kind of Abusive Actually, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, One-Sided Relationship, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, S&M, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 09:43:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12166401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snurgle/pseuds/snurgle
Summary: One year, three months, two weeks and five days have gone by since Delan lost his best friend and Marc lost his wife. Nothing has gotten better. In fact, it just might be getting worse.An exceptionally late night at work turns into a fight. And not long after, something else.





	The Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone who keeps up with my works can forgive me for how absurdly self-indulgent I've been lately.  
> So I've been in a horrific writing slump for the past 2 years or so, and the only thing that can get me excited or motivated anymore is weird porn, for some reason. SO... here we are.  
> I wanted to write this story mostly because of an RP that I'm doing with my friend Devin. You know, the one who I kept thanking in my author notes for ALAOUT? Well, we're in an RP together because we're both into the same weird shit, and this story is all about her OCs. I guess that makes it qualify as almost an original work. It's not really mine, but I guess it's not officially anyone else's.  
> This timeline isn't, anyway. And I can assure you, as bad as this one is, the one she actually came up with was way worse.  
> So to explain what the hell is going on here, let me put it like this:   
> The relationship in this story is a polyamorous triangle. There's Marc, who's married to Eva, and he also has Delan on the side, who had been with Marc slightly longer than Eva (his relationship with her was rocky at first, but they gradually became really close friends over their mutual feels with Marc). Delan runs a tavern and is the gayest person you've ever seen. He's also French. I feel like some things will make more sense if you know he's French.  
> Marc has a master/slave relationship with Delan, and he usually only goes to him when he fights with Eva and needs to let his anger out without hurting his wife. Delan madly loves him, despite the fact that Marc never openly reciprocates his feelings, so he lets him do whatever he wants. They all live in a mansion in upper Manhattan. Delan has his own apartment, but the three of them are together so much that they might as well all live in one place.   
> So. Marc works as a psychiatrist, and is also a recreational mad scientist and a genetic amalgam that is in a constant state of change. He has 3 forms, one which is human-looking, one which is 6'8 and has green hair, and one which is just a monstrous abomination that is 60% claws and teeth, which is mentioned at one point. In this case, he's stuck in his human form, since he no longer has the energy to keep himself in either of his other forms.  
> Long backstory short, Marc and Eva had been married for a few years. Marc got into an altercation with the criminal underworld, which resulted in him eating a mob boss and pissing off a senator who was receiving huge stipends from that part of the mafia, who put a price on Marc's head and all those close to him. Then Eva got pregnant with their first children, a set of twins. The manage to track the senator down to a conference that's taking place in an administrative building that is rigged with bombs, which will cause the building to self-destruct if there is a security breach. They figure out how to trip the system, the senator finds out about the plot and uses a network of secret tunnels in the walls to try and escape. Eva finds out about the tunnels, catches the senator and kills him, thn tries to escape, but she doesn't make it out of the building, gets blown out of a window on the top floor and falls to her death. Marc finds her body first, and then Delan. One year, three months, two weeks and five days later, this happens.  
> All names used in the story are either friends, colleagues, accomplices or family of the main three. And these are Devin's OCs, not mine. I think we cleared that.  
> A FUCK TON of TRIGGER WARNINGS here. PLEASE CHECK THE RATING AND TAGS before you proceed reading this.  
> Have fun.

 

One year. More than that. 365 days, plus another three months, two weeks and five more days beyond that. It still hasn’t gotten any better.

Delan didn’t know why he could count the exact number of days since he had seen it happen. He couldn’t remember what day of the month it was, nor what day of the week or even what month that day was supposed to be in. He’d stopped remembering to check off the days on his calendar about three weeks into the cycle of grief. After that, he had lost track. Even if Zoelle sometimes reminded him, little details slipped out of his brain within minutes. They didn’t matter. Nothing much seemed to matter at all after they lost Eva.

_ When _ was no longer important. Time became measured in the number of days that had passed since he’d seen her splattered on the pavement.

Delan jolted awake on the couch of Marc’s living room. The fire was burning low, casting the room in an eerie red light. He quickly kicked off the throw blanket he’d been using to keep himself warm since Marc had shut off the heat. It was soaked in cold sweat now, basically useless. Delan shoved it away and it unceremoniously hit the floor. He needed to catch his breath and stop his heart from pounding.

He’d seen it again. Smelled and tasted it, as if he were there and the carnage was fresh. Smoke and gunpowder still floating in the air, mixing with the sickening metallic tang of spilled blood. Rainfall doing nothing to clear away the stench, only making it thick and palpable. Eva lying on the wet, shimmering asphalt, her broken limbs in an irregular sprawl, her long, beautiful hair soaked and clotted with blood and loose brain matter. Her empty eyes, cloudy and staring up at the sky. Her belly ripped open by something with claws, her insides scrambled, even though Marc should have known it was too soon to save them, that without her they wouldn’t have lived, there was no way they would have lived--

Delan choked and tried to swallow the memory like a mouthful of bad liquor. He wouldn’t let it come up again. As long as he was awake, he could push it back down.

He heard the chiming of some timepiece somewhere in the house, and he looked up at the face of the silent, stoic grandfather clock in front of him. Four AM, apparently. He’d meant to go upstairs and visit Marc as soon as he came home, but he had spent all night working at the bar, and he’d been exhausted, in no shape to be caring for his last surviving best friend. He had only meant to close his eyes for a few minutes, but apparently his brain had other plans, primarily ones that involved torturing him again.

With a huff of effort, Delan pushed himself up out of the chair and staggered toward the main stairway in the foyer. If Marc was asleep, he didn’t have anything to worry about. If he was awake, he would most definitely be pissed.

His bare feet padded quietly down the second-story hallway, toward the door at the end that had been left ajar. There was no light on inside, which was just the way he had left it. Hopefully Marc had given in at long last and decided to get some sleep.

The ancient door creaked as Delan pushed it open another few inches to let himself in, and as soon as his eyes met with the reflective pool of moonlight at the other end of the room, he knew his hopes were about to be dashed.

“Hey, Marc,” he said in a whispered greeting.

“You’re late,” a gravelly voice replied from the bed in the corner.

Delan sighed and made his approach. “I know. And I’m sorry. I had a rough night, and I didn’t want to come back here when I was in a shitty mood or too out of it to really help you if you needed something-”

“I don’t want your excuses,” Marc grumbled. He sounded weak, probably dehydrated.

“Then let me fix things,” Delan insisted as he approached the foot of the bed and laid his hand on the mattress. “Is there anything you need? A glass of water, or some painkillers, or-”

“No,” was the short, sharp reply. The sheets rustled as Marc pulled them up over his shoulder and rolled over to face the wall.

A stab of guilt dug into Delan’s chest. Marc was obviously angry at him. Of all the things that he needed at this time, being abandoned was not one of them. “I’m sorry,” he compulsively said. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

“Sorry won’t bring my pulse back down,” Marc snarled at him, and right then Delan knew just how badly he had fucked up. Marc had gone into another panic attack, and meanwhile he had been dozing off downstairs.

“I should have known better,” Delan quietly scolded himself. “Painkillers it is, then. And maybe I should light some incense. Lavender or something.”

“I don’t want incense.” A response that Delan had expected. Marc had hated incense since Eva had died. The smell of it reminded him of her. Delan figured he would light some anyway. Marc needed something to calm him down.

He stood up from the bed and wandered into the bathroom. There were clean glasses in there that he’d left from times that Marc didn’t even want him to go as far as the kitchen to get him anything. That was probably to be expected when someone loses a person they love. And Delan would be damned if Marc didn’t love his wife.

Not just her, Delan’s brain reminded him without his consent as he filled a fresh glass of water. The twins that she would have had were gone, too. He’d seen their tiny, half-developed bodies curled up around each other inside her with their cover ripped away. All of a sudden he felt sick. He set the glass down on the countertop before lurching forward over the sink and retching his life away.

He didn’t puke, only coughed and spit up some bile into the sink drain. He let the cold water run, trying to cover up the sound of it, but Marc probably heard anyway. It was hard to hide anything from him. Delan took a handful of water and tried to rinse the sour, bitter taste out of his mouth, then splashed another handful on his face. The cold shock was sharp and jarring, made ten times worse without the heat on, but it helped get his mind off of what he’d seen. He was stable enough to hold a glass of water and a handful of little white pills and carry them back into the bedroom.

Marc was still hunched over in the furthest corner of the bed, bundled up like a caterpillar in a cocoon made of blankets, but he had turned around and was looking at Delan again. Maybe he was open to forgiveness tonight. It was rare, but sometimes he could be. Delan approached him, sitting down on the edge of the bed and holding the pills and glass out to him. 

“I can’t move my arms,” Marc said.

Delan sighed. He should have known this would happen; Marc had done it before, bundled himself up so tightly while trying to recover from a panic attack that he couldn’t extract himself from the tangle of sheets and blankets. Delan inched his way closer, his hand outstretched and holding the painkillers near to Marc’s face. His friend leaned his head forward and took the pills into his mouth, his chapped lips brushing across Delan’s palm as he did. Delan held the glass as Marc placed his mouth on the edge of it and tilted it to get a sip of water. They both tried to keep their distance as the exchange went over. 

“You could have called for me,” Delan told him. “I was just downstairs.”

Marc didn’t respond to him because it was a stupid thing for Delan to have pointed out. He knew damn well why Marc hadn’t called for him. It wasn’t Delan that he wanted. It was Eva.

“Have you eaten or drank anything since I left?”

“No.”

Delan fed Marc another sip of water.

He’d watched him go through this for the whole string of empty days that had followed Eva’s horrific death. Everyone had told him at the funeral that things would get better with time, that eventually they could both lick their wounds, heal and move on. Marc, however, was never a fan of doing as he was told. As time passed, he only seemed to be getting worse.

Delan limped onward as he usually did, forcing himself to keep going back to his tavern and managing its activity at night to earn a living and keep city utilities from cutting off his water and electricity. Not Marc. First it was taking days off of work, sometimes weeks at a time. Then he stopped showing up at the asylum at all. He pushed his bed into a corner so he could have his back to something while he slept, wrapped up deathly tight in his blankets to pretend he was being held. 

Delan would have held him, but Marc wouldn’t have it. He wasn’t the one that he wanted. Marc barely permitted his friend to touch him at all.

A few minutes were allowed to pass before Delan tried to get Marc to drink again. This time, he refused to take it, pushing the glass back with his nose. “I’m not a fucking toddler, you know. If I want more water, I’ll ask you for it.”

Delan pulled back and set the glass down on the bedside table. “I’m sorry.”

“I already told you that I don’t give a shit if you’re sorry or not. I can’t do anything with ‘sorry.’ I never asked you to be my nursemaid, you know.”

“I think we both know that you don’t always ask for things when you need them.”

Marc stared at him, his singular eye glimmering in the low light. That had been a low blow, and they both knew it. Delan hadn’t seen until then that his face was wet, and he felt a pull at his heartstrings. Marc had been crying. 

“What started it this time?” he asked, keeping his voice soft.

“Why the hell does it matter?” Marc squirmed in the blankets and tried to turn away from him again. “It’s always the same shit. You know that. You don’t need to keep asking.”

“I’m only asking because I care about you.” He stared at Marc for a long time, his dearest friend now reduced to a scrap of his former self. He was small, pallid and frail like this, diseases eating at him like piranhas at a carcass. The words came up again before he could stop them. Marc clearly didn’t want to hear them, but they had to be said. 

“I love you.”

Marc snarled at him. “Do I look like I give a fuck?”

“You look like you should.”

The fragile man across from Delan refused to dignify him with a response. Neither of them said another word, only letting the noise from the creatures in Hyde Park fill the silence between them. Eventually there was a soft huffing sound, slow at first, then gradually getting faster. Marc’s breathing was picking up its pace again.

“Marc, please don’t do this,” Delan begged him, but the second attack was already underway. Marc thrashed at his sheets, trying to get his limbs loose enough to get the catharsis of curling in on himself again, but he’d already gone too far. He was sniffling, the luster of his eye running down over his cheek. He flopped over onto the pillows, convulsing pitifully as sobs wracked his body. 

“I hate this,” he whimpered into the mattress. “I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this!”

Delan couldn’t take it anymore. He’d spent months watching Marc in pain, and he wouldn’t put up with it this time. He crawled across the mattress to his friend and started pulling at the covers, trying to untangle Marc’s pale, emaciated body. His friend whined and protested the whole time, trying to resist him, but Delan refused to give up. Once he was free, Delan gathered Marc up into his arms and pulled him close to his chest, nuzzling his face into his hair. For a second, Marc almost seemed to relax. Then, without warning, he’d kicked Delan in the chest and sent him sprawling across the bed.

“Stop it! Fucking stop!” Marc snapped. He crawled back toward the wall, backing himself into his corner while Delan wheezed on the opposite side of the mattress, trying to catch his breath. This damage wasn’t even a fraction of what Marc had once been able to do; even his violent outbursts weren’t the same. “For fuck’s sake, Delan, don’t you ever know when to quit?”

“I just want to help you!” Delan tossed back at him, his throat feeling raw. “Why won’t you let me help you, Marc?”

“Because you can’t!” Marc’s voice was quivering. He was still crying, even though he tried as hard as he could to act like he wasn’t. Delan watched his silhouette waver as he shivered. “Fuck... fuck, it’s so cold in here...” Marc burrowed his way back under the blankets. “You can’t help me, Delan. No one could do what she could, and no one ever will.”

“So you’re just going to let yourself rot like this?” Delan asked, his words sharp and scolding. “She wouldn’t have wanted you to be letting yourself wither away while you wished she was still here. Don’t you understand that she isn’t coming back? You can’t spend forever hiding in your house, letting yourself sicken and starve while you wish for the impossible.”

“I  _ know _ she won’t come back. Why the hell do you think I’m so upset?” Marc growled. At least he wasn’t snapping at him anymore. 

A moment passed in uncomfortable silence. The frigid air felt thick with tension. Anger brewed in Delan’s core while he stared at that corner of the room where Marc sulked, refusing to meet his eyes. The words came bubbling up from deep inside him, and he didn’t even bother to think before he set them free. “You weren’t the only person who lost her, you know.”

Marc said nothing, but Delan heard his breath hiss through his teeth. He had his attention.

“Eva was my best friend,” Delan went on, fighting against the tightness in his throat that threatened to choke him. “She was the person I cared about most in the world, right up there next to you.”

“You weren’t the one who married her,” came the grumbled reply. “You weren’t the one who loved her.”

“That’s a filthy fucking lie and you know it. I did love her. Maybe not the way you did, but that’s the thing about love. It isn’t a singularity, and I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. What about Stella and Zoelle, Jasper, Bonnibell, Lily, Rhapsody, Thaddeus and all his boyfriends-”

“It’s not the same.”

“What about her parents?” Delan spat, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence. “What about Ray and Violet? She was their daughter. That was their child they had to bury!”

“Them and me both!” Marc roared. The blankets had been ripped away, and now Marc was crouched in front of him, a vicious, predatory look on his face. He snarled at Delan. The Frenchman felt his heart flutter in fear, but it was too late to turn back now. Either he finished this, or he would let this wound fester even longer.

“I wish we could have saved the twins,” he went on. He felt so weak, but he forced himself to keep talking. “I know that was what you were trying to do when you ripped her open like that. It’s completely unfair that they had to be a part of what we were involved in, and they ended up dead when all we were trying to do was keep them safe-”

“Shut up!” Marc snapped. “You never gave half a shit about the twins!”

“You’re so obsessed with thinking you’re the only one who cared for them. Well, I have some bad news for you: I was just as excited as you were! I wanted to meet them so badly, and I wanted to care for them and be a part of their lives. We could have been-”

Marc’s fist met with his face before he could finish. Delan was dazed for a second, and then suddenly he was falling. The back of his head cracked against the floor, the rest of his body coming to meet it. His teeth ached, his hand came up to clutch at the forming bruise under his left eye, and all he wished was that he could have finished saying what he had wanted to say.

_ We could have been a family, Marc _ . There was no way in hell that he would have wanted to hear it, but it was the truth.

Delan heard him shifting in the sheets. He was balling himself up in the corner again. When Delan dragged himself back to his feet, Marc was wedged into the same place he’d been wedged all night. His knees were pulled up to his chest, his head ducked behind them and his hands over his ears. He trembled like a child afraid of the dark, trying to block out all the sights and sounds around him and seal himself away into a bubble where there was no pain, no tragedy, nothing at all.

Delan sniffed and caught the scent of blood in his nose. “Marc...”

No words beyond that. Only a request for acknowledgement, that was all. Marc took a breath, the intake of air coming to him in a broken, gasping sob. Then words, spoken in a weak, tired voice that was hardly more than a whisper. “Don’t make me think about it.”

Delan only stared at him for a moment, unsure how to proceed. Marc couldn’t have been surrendering. He’d never done that before. “I can’t make you think anything, Marc,” he replied.

“Yes, you can,” his friend choked out, finally raising his head to meet Delan’s gaze. “You talk about it, and then I think. I don’t want to keep thinking.”

“We don’t have a choice about that, Marc. When something like this happens, you can’t just push it back and pretend it isn’t there. It stays with you forever, and you just need to learn to live with that.”

“I don’t want to live with it,” Marc protested. “I don’t want to have to go through life feeling like this. I hate knowing that there’s this big, hollow void in my life that used to be filled with something that doesn’t exist anymore. I’m so tired of being sad and empty. I’m tired of this being everything I know... everything I feel... all the time...”

“That’s just the way it is,” Delan said softly. “You have to go through it before you get past it.” He laid his hand on the mattress and slid it towards Marc. “Please, mon ami. Just let me help you through it.”

For a minute, Marc only stared at the offered hand with a blank, glassy eye. Delan gave him as much time as he needed, knowing better than to push him. He was about to give up and take his hand back when Marc suddenly raised his own and let it hover over Delan’s. He turned his chin up to face his friend. “You really want to help me?”

A shot of adrenaline poured into Delan’s veins, but he had come this far. Without speaking a word, he swallowed his apprehension and nodded. 

Marc gazed at him for a long moment before letting his hand come to rest on Delan’s, then taking him by the wrist and pulling him close before gently placing his friend’s hand on his thigh.

Delan felt a little shiver of arousal at the sudden touch, but he quickly shook it off. Now was not the time. “Marc, what are you doing?” he asked.

“You said you wanted to help me,” his beloved friend replied. “I want you to help me by fucking me until I break.”

“What?” Before Marc could give him an answer, repeat himself and ask if Delan had blown his eardrums out or something, Delan was sitting bolt upright, his hand suddenly pulled away from Marc. He shook his head. “N-no,” he murmured. “No, I can’t do that to you. That... that isn’t going to fix anything.”

“But you just told me you want to help,” Marc said, his voice now lilting and playful, deeply unsettling in a way that Delan couldn’t describe. “You’re hurting, aren’t you? You still have nightmares. I can see the circles under your eyes. This’ll be a way to make us both forget.”

“Whatever I’m going through means nothing,” Delan said firmly. “I’m not here for self-gratification. I can’t help you by... n-no, I can’t.”

“Please.” Marc leaned toward Delan, meeting his gaze and locking him in. “I need this,  _ right now _ . I’m so tired of feeling nothing. I want to be in some kind of pain that isn’t something generated by my own mind. You said you wanted to help, and  _ this _ is how you can.”

“This is a bad idea. Neither of us are in our right mind.”

“We never are, mon ours. We haven’t been for a long time. What difference will one more little tryst make?” Delan could see Marc squirming in place, his hands rubbing at himself between his pale legs. He convinced himself that he wasn’t turned on by the image at all. “It’s been too long. I’m so numb, Delan. I can’t stand it anymore. If the void in my life can’t be filled, maybe we can fill something else.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Delan confessed. “You’ve never asked me to do this before.”

“Oh, come the fuck on!” There he went. Angry Marc was back. “It’s not that hard! Just imagine you’re me, and I’m you, and that I’m not a shivering mess of hot garbage.”

“It’s not that I’ve never topped  _ you _ , Marc,” Delan clarified. “It’s that I’ve never topped  _ at all _ . It’s just not what I’m made for.”

“But I’ve been fucking you for years, Delan. You should know better than anyone how it’s done,” Marc teased him. And now he was being playful again. The sound of his voice made Delan squirm, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. 

“Th-there was a reason I-” Delan started to argue, but he was quickly cut off.

“Oh, wait. I wasn’t just fucking you. I was busting your ass open and digging right into your soft, pretty organs.” Marc crawled toward him across the mattress, reaching one stick-thin arm out to trace a hand across Delan’s collarbone. “All those scars you have are from me. We both know how much I loved to sink my teeth into you while I fucked you raw. And the way I used to grab you and throw you around like a warm, moaning sex doll- it was just so fun, clamping down on your skin and watching the bruises blossom.” His fingers hooked around the collar of Delan’s shirt and tugged, prompting the Frenchman to swat his hand away and keep his copious bite scars covered. Marc scoffed. “Come on, mon ours. Ten years you’ve been my fucktoy and a perfect little punching bag. Don’t you want your revenge?”

“You only did those things to me because I allowed you to do them,” Delan reminded him, his breath hissing through gritted teeth. 

“Why did you let me, then? Because you love me?” Marc’s razor-edged teeth flashed in the moonlight as he laughed. “Did you think that would get you anywhere? All you did was degrade yourself in front of me.”

“I was giving you what you needed, Marc. That’s what I’m still trying to do.”

“You weren’t giving me what I needed. I didn’t  _ need _ shit. You were catering to me like the pandering little slut that you are.”

“If you’re just saying that to piss me off, it isn’t working.” That was a total fallacy, but it wasn’t like he was going to give in so easily.

“Don’t lie to my face,” Marc commanded. Even with his weakened lungs and sore throat, Marc still somehow found it in himself to conjure up the low, domineering tone that Delan remembered all too well. Marc was practically on top of him now, one hand stroking its nails delicately across his jaw. Delan tried as hard as he could not to remember that voice whispering into his ear from behind as he was ground facedown into a mass of pillows, his body open and chafed from the inside out. He pretended he didn’t feel a jolt of arousal slither through his body and shoot directly toward his cock.

“I’m not lying,” he hissed. “Now get off of me. I won’t do it.”

“How about I don’t?” Marc’s spindly fingers fixed on Delan’s shoulders as he pulled himself close, a wicked grin on his face. “What are you gonna do about it, hm?” He straddled Delan, pressing their hips together. Marc was definitely hard, no getting around that. “Are you gonna push me away if I don’t let you go?” He brought his face close to Delan’s, their lips almost brushing. “Are you gonna hurt me, pretty boy?”

Delan lost it and shoved Marc away. He tried to be gentle, but Marc’s fragile body took the push like a bullet and fell violently away and into the pillows. He looked up at Delan, giving a little overplayed gasp.

“I’m not in the mood for this stupid game, Marc,” Delan said again, although his voice shook. The smile on Marc’s face told him that he knew he was already winning.

“Then don’t play around with me like you are,” Marc slyly replied. He rose up to his knees and tossed his hair back. He stared at Delan with an insatiable hunger in his eyes, one that Delan knew all too well. “Hurt me,” he commanded.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Delan definitely wasn’t aroused by this at all. He didn’t feel himself pressing at the fly of his pants, straining to be set free.

“Hurt me,” Marc repeated. His grin had disappeared, now replaced by a look of savage determination. “Fuck me until I’m screaming. Make me cry.” He shot forward, grabbing Delan by the front of his shirt. “Fucking hurt me, you useless piece of-”

_ SLAM. _

Marc was light as a feather. He was far too easy to grab and throw up against the wall. Delan’s hands snaked up under his shirt and scraped his nails across his skin. If Marc wanted this so badly, fine. He would get exactly what he asked for.

Delan let out a bestial snarl and began ripping at Marc’s clothes. His shirt came off first, torn away and thrown to the floor. He didn’t watch the seams, and he heard its threads wresting apart. It was a filth-stained piece of trash anyway; it wasn’t like Marc would miss it. His pants were off next, the drawstring snapping as Delan impatiently pulled the waistband open to tear them off of his once-dominant friend with benefits. That left only his boxers, a dull, dark grey like the amorphous spots that had begun showing up on his skin again. Marc’s undressed body showed a wealth of them, scattered across his limbs and torso in nasty constellations.

Before he gave in to Marc’s demands, Delan was going to test him. It was time to see if Marc really could take all he was asking for. Without so much as a syllable spoken to warn him, Delan picked a cluster of sores on Marc’s upper arm and savagely dug his thumb into them.

Marc gasped in shock and writhed in Delan’s grip as if he were trying to escape. Delan only dug in harder, drawing a strangled whine from Marc’s throat. Marc kicked weakly at him, his legs stuck in an awkward position now pinned somewhere between the wall and the mattress. He was pitiful like this, really. It was almost enough to make Delan feel guilty.

This was what he’d demanded, though. So when Marc started gasping and his mouth began to move like it was attempting to form words, Delan slapped him across the face to shut him up. Then he did it again. Marc yelped as his head thrashed to the side and smacked into the wall. He wouldn’t be begging for mercy anytime soon; Delan would make sure of that.

One forearm was enough to keep Marc’s frail, damaged body pinned to the wall while Delan reached down to unfasten his own belt. His hand plunged into his pants and began feeling around, searching for signs of life. He was only half-hard, not raging the way that Marc was. It seemed like he’d need a little extra assistance to get them both onto the same page.

Delan pulled his arm back and let Marc drop to the mattress. His emaciated body collapsed like a rag doll, landing in a panting heap near Delan’s knees. His face was tinted red. Delan hadn’t realized just how hard he’d hit him. He wasted no time doing it again when Marc tried to get up and regain his bearings. He then stripped his own shirt off and threw it to the floor.

A little rearranging had Marc spread out under him in a helpless sprawl, his arms and legs pinned down by Delan’s hands and feet. His sick lover struggled against his grasp, but it wasn’t nearly enough to get himself free. 

Marc gasped as Delan quickly ducked down and peeled the last remnant of his clothing away. Now he was stripped, naked and defenseless. Delan stared down at him for a moment, almost hating him for driving him to what he was about to do. But it was too early to regret anything. Marc’s erection was rigid underneath him, and it badly needed to be tended to. Delan bowed his head, bared his teeth and did just that.

He felt his restrained lover squirming underneath him, his chest rising and falling as he voiced his distress. Delan only sucked harder, taking as much of Marc’s length into his mouth as he could, then biting down on its supple, sensitive flesh and dragging them back, all the way to the tip. Marc cried out with every repetition. Whether it was from pain or enjoyment was hard to tell; the line between the two had long been blurred for Delan. 

It didn’t last long. With one last, savage bite, Delan elicited a final scream from Marc. To his surprise, he started to feel the slow, subtle drip of precum leaking out onto his tongue as he pulled back. So Marc was enjoying this, apparently. The poor sick bastard didn’t know what more he had coming.

Delan pulled back to see Marc’s face flushed, his eye watering, his lips parted and wet, issuing little whimpers of agonized pleasure. The sight of him sent another electric thrill through Delan, and he felt his member pressing at the front seam of his pants. He was getting there, if slowly. Just a little more, he promised himself. Marc had requested, and he would deliver. Staring directly into Marc’s flashing, moon-lit eye, he lifted a hand to his mouth and licked his index and middle fingers, slow and seductive, easing them in past his lips and back out.

Marc whined and his body convulsed once against the mattress. He knew what was coming.

No time was wasted priming Marc or easing him into it. Delan went in fast, both fingers at once. Marc’s body clenched around him like a vise grip. Dear god, he was tight. His muscles were damn near cutting off Delan’s circulation. He flexed his fingers, and Marc let out an undignified shriek. It was absolutely perfect. Delan forced a third finger in, then a fourth. It was more than Marc would have needed to encompass him, but that wasn’t the reason they were going through this. He had asked for it, Delan reminded himself as he began pumping his fingers back and forth, rocking Marc’s entire body with each thrust of his hand and drawing raspy, high-pitched cries from his lover’s throat. This was what he’d wanted, and it was what he would get.

Marc seemed to be struggling to breathe. Delan could feel his former master’s racing pulse from inside him as he pushed in further. The heat and friction were almost enough to hurt his hand now, and he couldn’t imagine how Marc must have felt. His fingertips pressed up against a little knot of nerves and tissue, and a resounding scream ripped its way out of Marc. A smirk twitched at the corner of Delan’s mouth. He knew exactly what that was. He hit it again, eliciting the same result, then began to toy with it, pressing and grinding his fingers into Marc’s sweet spot, making the frail man underneath him writhe and shriek with pain and ecstasy. His eyes were rolled back, his mouth hanging open as he gasped for air. Then, he cried out, arched his back and came hard and fast as he hit an unexpected climax.

Delan was startled, but not exactly surprised; he knew what he was doing. The release splattered the both of them, arms and legs and bare body and face. Delan huffed as he roughly pulled his fingers out of Marc and shed the last of his clothes. His weakened lover whined as he tried to ride out his orgasm without Delan’s hand inside him, his body now confused and his mind even more lost.

In less than a second, Delan’s fingers were back, only two this time, pushing relentlessly at Marc’s prostate. Marc moaned weakly in response, barely having enough energy left in him to react. Delan slipped a hand between his legs and began to stroke himself, using Marc’s thick, slimy cum as lubricant. His cock hardened the rest of the way as he watched Marc weakly moaning and shifting his hips, trying to find it in himself to respond to his no-longer-submissive fucktoy’s fingers probing at his insides.

There was no warning made before Delan grabbed Marc by the hips and flipped him over, pushing him facedown into the mattress. Marc whined in discomfort, and Delan remembered that this was his friend’s favorite way to fuck him; facing away from him, not having to look into his eyes, barely acknowledging him while his vessel choked on blankets and pillows. If Marc was so fond of doing it to him in this position, he would surely enjoy the living hell out of being on the receiving end. Delan kept that in mind as he lined up with Marc’s entrance and thrusted himself in.

Marc yelped again, muffled by the pillows. Delan held back a vicious laugh as he fucked his way deeper into Marc. There was some deep, bitter part of himself that was enjoying this; he could feel it raging in his core with animalistic joy. Revenge was so sweet. It tasted cold and refreshing, like the smell of frozen flowers, or maybe that was just the air that rushed into his mouth as he panted and moaned and pushed Marc face-first into the bed. He remembered years and years’ worth of putting up with him, his anger, his volatility and fickle feelings, Marc confessing so many things to him, unloading his feelings onto Delan and forcing him to carry every kind of information in his head except the knowledge that Marc loved him because he didn’t love him, he never did and never would and took every possible opportunity to remind him, no matter how much blind faith Delan had in his cruel, distant lover or how many times Eva told him that it wasn’t true and that Marc really did share his feelings but felt compelled to hide them for some reason or another, and it didn’t matter what Eva thought, because Eva was dead, Eva was dead and Marc had never loved him and he didn’t matter, no one mattered, nothing really did at all anymore.

Delan came with a final forward lurch, plunging himself as deep into Marc as he could go. He let out a roar that had been building up somewhere deep in his chest. He stayed there, hunched over and panting as his release spilled into his lover’s body. Marc whimpered as he took every last bit of it, struggling to catch his breath as his face was harshly ground into the comforter. Delan reached for his friend’s shoulders and pulled Marc back against him, making the sickly man gasp as he was suddenly delved into again. 

If Marc had been thinking that this was over, he was sorely mistaken.

Clutching Marc’s body against his own, Delan began thrusting again. He didn’t know where this stamina was coming from. His recovery time never went by this quickly, either. He could call it a fluke, if it needed to be called anything at all. Maybe it was sheer rage. Regardless, it was proving itself incomparably useful. If Marc wanted to be fucked to the point of tears, Delan had more than enough fire to get him there.

Marc’s back arched and he whined, sounding tired as though Delan were trying to drag him out of bed in the morning. He leaned back against his lover; it was the first responsive touch that Delan had gotten from him that wasn’t trying to push him away. Some deep, instinctual part of Delan felt almost fulfilled by it. He thrusted upward, grasping Marc by the hips and letting gravity do the rest. The ridges of his dearest friend’s bones were sickening to feel, and Delan felt guilt spearing through him at the faintest suggestion of it. He went straight for Marc’s dick to take his mind off of it. He was hardening up again as Delan’s hand cupped around the base of him. Fastening his mouth to the side of Marc’s neck, he began to stroke.

It started slowly, with low, languid moans echoing from Marc’s lips and his body squirming faintly in Delan’s lap. He began to gain momentum then, his impassioned cries growing louder and his muscles contracting as he began to lose himself. They moved together in synchronization, slowly working each other toward another peak. For just a moment, everything was euphoric. Delan nearly forgot how he had gotten into this situation in the first place. 

Then he felt nails digging into his thigh, and he realized that he wasn’t supposed to be gentle. With a low growl, he let his teeth come out again. Marc gasped when he bit down on him, and not from pleasure this time. His muscles immediately tightened up again, clamping down hard on his lover’s cock. Delan might not have been able to draw blood, but he came close, leaving a dark bruise in his wake on Marc’s pallid shoulder. 

He thrusted harder, now with ferocity enough to break Marc’s body in half. His nails raked across Marc’s cock as he went on roughly jerking it, stressing even after it was rock-hard in his hand. Marc writhed in his grasp, protesting the sensory overload, his head thrown back and his mouth open in a silent scream. His breath came too hard and fast to make any noise. Delan could feel his racing pulse in the veins of his turgid cock and in the hot, tight walls of his body as they clenched around him.

Marc’s erotic distress gave way to another feverish orgasm, against every indication that his body had been exhausted. He stained the sheets this time, finally catching his breath as his body let loose and left cum dripping from his tensed stomach and aching thighs. Delan climaxed a moment after, Marc’s peak having pushed him far enough to reach another one of his own. He clutched his lover’s body close to his as he rode out the ecstatic wavelengths of a second release, making Marc whine and put a hand to his abdomen as he was gushed into for a second time. Delan let his hands slide down and felt how Marc was straining to encompass him now. He felt a low rumble in his chest, almost a triumphant growl. _Do you like how it feels?_ He bitterly wondered before he grasped Marc’s waist and turned him back around to roughly throw him down onto his back.

A shocked gasp broke from Marc’s lungs as he hit the bed. He laid there, stunned for a moment, before his eyes refocused and he stared up at Delan, a look of pure anticipation on his face. Delan had softened a little, though he still hadn’t pulled out of him. He watched Marc squirm in discomfort on the wet sheets, then ran a hand across his lover’s body, collecting a small wealth of stray semen in his fingers. He then brought his hand up to Marc’s mouth, his actions uttering an unspoken command. 

_ Eat it. _

After a moment’s hesitation, Marc put his tongue out and reluctantly obeyed. He whined at the taste of his own cum, watery and bitter from his self-inflicted starvation. Delan took a little taste of it himself and, upon deciding he didn’t like it now as much as he usually did, spat it in Marc’s face. His lover winced, and not a second later Delan’s hips were once again grinding sporadically into his.

Marc’s body arched and he gasped weakly, too exhausted now to even make any noise in response to Delan’s rough, torrid fucking. Delan took his lover’s bony wrists and pinned them to the mattress. He saw tears welling in the corners of Marc’s singular eye.  _ Make me cry _ , his words echoed in Delan’s head.

His hands moved as if they had a mind of their own. He watched them fasten around Marc’s neck, and his body went on relentlessly thrusting into him. Marc choked, his airway cut off, and his hands clawed uselessly at Delan’s, trying to loosen his grip. Maybe it was a step too far. Maybe. But the tears were building up in Marc’s eye. Marc’s gasping intensified, his body jerking spastically as it fought to take oxygen into its lungs. The tears spilled over, running down his cheek. 

At long last, Delan reached an orgasm and came into him for the third time. His hands stayed around Marc’s neck, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the sight of him, but he was unable to escape the heart-rending sound of his gasps. He felt himself draining, filling Marc up even further. When it ended and he let his eyes open again, his gaze met with Marc’s right away. His incapacitated lover stared up at him, silently begging for mercy.

Delan’s hands began to shake, and he finally let it sink in. None of it felt right. He couldn’t do this.

He pulled his hands away from Marc’s neck as fast as he could. A heavy, empty feeling of exhaustion hit him all at once, and he quickly pulled out of Marc, his body trembling with shock. He backed away to put distance between them once again and watched the look of fear slowly fade from Marc’s face and turn into a teasing curve of his lips- a knowing smirk. Marc was victorious, as usual. He had gotten exactly what he wanted.

The cold, stony weight of guilt remained firmly settled in Delan’s chest. He took a breath to steady himself, and it came back out in the form of an apology before he could stop it. “I’m so sorry.”

Marc paid him no attention. Instead his lover propped himself up on his arms, lifted his body away from the slimy blanket and pulled the ends up from the bed. He cleaned himself off, wiping away all the excess before scrunching the cover up and throwing it off onto the floor. Marc then pulled himself back toward the pillows, nestling himself into them and closing his eyes with a contented sigh. He was stretched out like a cat taking a nap in the sun, and he brought one hand down to rub his faintly bloated stomach. Delan hadn’t realized just how much he had filled Marc.

“Are you okay?” he asked out of impulse.

Marc didn’t reply, only stared at him through one half-opened eye. The room was tense and quiet as the heat of their tryst dissipated. Eventually Marc sighed and gave up on staying silent. “I’m freezing,” he said. “Can you get a new blanket and sheet from the closet?”

Delan nodded and stood up to retrieve what was asked. When he returned to the bed, his arms full of linens, Marc added, “And could you grab me another pair of underwear? I don’t want to have to sleep like this.”

That was done easily enough. Delan picked his own up off the floor and slid them back on while Marc cuddled himself up into the sheets. He then stood by the end of the bed, waiting for his fickle love interest to shoo him away again. He didn’t, though. Instead he stared expectantly at him from his mass of pillows, waiting for what always came next.

Apparently, even this time, his performance had merited a reward. He learned to expect them after their other affairs, but he had thought that this one would be different. Apparently, in Marc’s eyes, that wasn’t the case.

Delan climbed back onto the bed and crawled up next to Marc, laying himself down on the mattress beside him. Marc held the covers back to invite his fucktoy- because even after this, that was what Delan always would be- to join him under them. He gladly accepted, cuddling his body close to Marc as they let the covers fall back into place. He was warm now, somehow not feverish like he had been before. Delan gathered his lover into his arms, nestling his face into the curve of his neck. Marc responded in turn, winding his arms around Delan and nuzzling against the side of his head, letting their legs intertwine under the covers.

“I’m still sorry,” Delan said softly, fighting not to let his voice tremble.

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re sorry,” Marc said, his words now soft and forgiving. He tangled his fingers into Delan’s hair and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. 

“I love you,” Delan said as his eyes fell closed.

“I know. That’s why I keep you around.”

It was the last thing Delan heard before he drifted off. And in that moment, it truly felt like it didn’t matter if Marc loved him or not. For now, being wanted at all would be enough.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> And this is what I've spent my life making.  
> I hope you didn't hate it.


End file.
